Like Water Through Fingers
by JamesLuver
Summary: "She turned to smile at him then, her eyes tired but brimming with love for him, and he leaned in to press a kiss against her sweat-soaked temple. In her arms, their tiny son whimpered. Somehow, everything was wonderful." If only, if only, if only. Runner up in the angst/hurt/comfort category in the Highclere Awards 2013. Nominated 2014.


**A/N:** Forgive any historical inaccuracies regarding wet nursing and miscarriage. I don't have the time at the moment to be as thorough as I'd like.

**Disclaimer:** _Downton Abbey_. It's never been mine, it's not currently mine, it will never be mine.

* * *

><p><em><span>Like Water Through Fingers<span>_

_Compared to the birth of their three daughters, their son entered the world easily. Perhaps it was a miraculous sign of the ease of their position to come. No longer did any of them have to lose sleep over the future of the estate. Finally, after twenty-six long years, he and Cora had managed to create the future of Downton between them._

_ The doctor had left after making the announcement that he had secretly been longing for: that Cora had given birth to a boy, a boy who was healthy in every way possible. Clarkson's parting statement that Robert was permitted to look in on both wife and son if he so wished was taken eagerly._

_ The girls had been hovering around anxiously for the last three hours and he himself had been unable to prevent himself from pacing the corridor in front of his wife's bedroom. Even Pharaoh had whined mournfully from the room that he had been shut into to prevent him from getting in the way, clearly sensing his master's distress. But now everything was fine, and he couldn't keep the relieved smile from his face as he took his daughters' expressed concerns for their mother with him and stepped through the door._

_ The room was bathed in soft candlelight. The sheets on the bed were crumpled, and the scent of sweat – hard labour – hung heavy in the air. The means of delivering the baby had been cleared away, thank God (he had no intention of seeing such horrors, and his sympathetic mind had already conjured up enough terrifying images for him), and Mrs. Hughes and O'Brien had already slipped from the room back to the servants' quarters, no doubt sharing the happy news with everyone below stairs. Pausing for only a moment longer, he stepped away from the doorframe. Cora had obviously not heard his arrival yet; she was staring down into her son's face with rapt adoration. The sight was breath-taking and Robert paused again, wanting to imprint the moment to his memory for eternity. He had never known his wife to look more beautiful, despite the fact that her eyes were dark and hooded from fatigue and her hair was plastered down with perspiration._

_ "How are you?" he finally spoke, breaking the spell that had been cast over the room. Cora visibly jumped, jerking her head around to face the door. She relaxed at once when she registered that it was her husband who had spoken. Robert smiled softly at her, venturing further in._

_ "I'm fine," she said quietly in reply. "Just fine."_

_ That's good," he sighed, perching on the edge of the bed beside her. His hand reached out to squeeze her shoulder affectionately. She turned to smile at him then, her eyes tired but brimming with love for him, and he leaned in to press a kiss against her sweat-soaked temple. In her arms, their tiny son whimpered. Somehow, everything was wonderful._

_ Cora seemed to read his mind. "Look at him," she breathed. "Look how perfect he is."_

_ "Perfect," he agreed, leaning closer to peer at the child that he had helped to conceive. To his surprise, the child was awake, staring up at his parents with huge blue eyes. Mary and Edith's had darkened to brown over time, but Sybil's had remained the same. He wondered whose his child would take after. Both he and Cora had blue eyes, but Cora's were brighter, vibrant with the excitement of living – an American feature, he presumed – and she was who Sybil took after with her constant thirst for new knowledge and her sunny outlook on life. Both his youngest and his eldest daughter had inherited their mother's dark haired beauty. He could look at each of them in turn and recall his wife as she had been years before, with a self-confident, attractive smirk, pale skin like a china doll's and a charm which ensured all eyes were on her. Edith, regrettably, had inherited her father's plainer looks. She was pretty enough in her own right, but cut a stark contrast to both of her sisters, dwarfed by their striking features. He hoped, rather ungallantly, that their son inherited his mother's good looks. He'd certainly turn heads if he did. _

_His heart swelled in his chest as he continued to gaze down on the baby. It had been eighteen long years since he had last looked upon a child of his own flesh and blood in such a vulnerable and dependent state. It had been a long time since any of his daughters had really needed him, and the thought that he would once again be looked up to and revered like a god almost made him feel powerful._

_ And there was, of course, the not-so-small matter of the entail. It was a shame in a strange sort of way – everyone had slowly come to accept the fact that the estate would one day go to Matthew. He was a nice, caring young man, Cora had conceded, and it could have been much worse than it was. Even his mother had warmed to the new heir over the months. He was very sorry that Matthew had to lose out on the life that he had been forced into two years previously. It was even worse that he couldn't even make provisions for the boy, ensure his security for the rest of his days. And yet, at the same time, it was a relief that the matter had been settled once and for all in the immediate family's favour. He had finally managed to perform his duty to the house by giving Cora the son that was needed for this to happen._

_ "He's a handsome fellow, isn't he?" he said._

_ Cora smiled cheekily, if a little tiredly. "If he looks anything like his father then he'll be breaking hearts before long."_

_ "I never went around breaking hearts," Robert protested mildly, slipping into the bed beside his wife without bothering to even take off his jacket and sliding his arms around her slight shoulders._

_ "You broke mine a few times," she said musingly, but her tone was light, telling him not to feel guilty about it as he was prone to be whenever someone brought the beginning of his relationship with Cora up. Still, he tightened his hold on her and pressed a possessive kiss against her hairline, letting her know exactly how much he regretted that first year of their marriage. The smile that he felt against his neck as she moved in to press her face against his skin let him know that she completely understood him._

_ The babe in her arms began to whimper._

_ She pulled away from him at once, and he smiled to see her maternal instincts kicking in so quickly, especially since they had not truly been needed for much too long now. Gently, she moved the babe from one arm to the other so that she could unpluck the first few buttons on her nightgown. Robert watched, enraptured, as she slipped her breast out of the confines of her nightwear to position the baby at her teat. Violet would be disgusted to know that her daughter-in-law fed the baby in such a way (_only common women who can't afford a wet nurse feed their children in such a way! _she'd bluster, appalled that even the Americans could do such a thing, although she should have been used to it by now, having witnessed Cora making the exact same decision to feed her children herself three times over already), but Robert personally found it simply fascinating._

_ Cora winced as the baby began to suckle. "I've managed to forget about this in the last eighteen years," she grimaced._

_ Robert grinned, leaning in to her, a giddy feeling of euphoria welling up inside him as he watched. "You never seem to mind when _I_ do that to you."_

_ "Robert!" Her scandalised tone of voice was belied by the satisfied smile which tugged at the corners of her mouth. "You'll scar out child before he's even reached one. If your mother could hear you now she'd probably have a heart attack to find you're not the gentleman she thinks you are."  
>"Your American ways are to blame for the corruption," he replied casually, leaning in to kiss her again. "No doubt Mama would agree with that."<em>

_ She groaned, their son pulling away, fully satisfied, and she rocked him gently in her arms. "Your mother would have me out of here quicker than those paintings I brought with me if she thought that."_

_ "And risk the scandal of a divorce?" he chuckled lightly, reaching out to stroke the baby's face as Cora put herself back together. The boy's skin was silky to the touch and Robert thought that his heart would burst from love for both his wife and his child. Noting the look in his eyes, Cora smiled and pressed her mouth against her husband's cheek._

_ "Would you like to hold him?" she asked softly, eyes glowing with contentment, and he managed a nod over the singing love in his veins. She passed him over carefully, waiting until he'd settled the baby in his arms before sinking in to his side, her chin resting on his shoulder so that she could stare down into the baby's face._

_ "I was afraid I'd forgotten how to do things," he told her honestly as he settled the baby's weight against his arm._

_ "You were always a natural, even with Mary," she smiled, eyes misting over as she recalled those precious past moments. "I don't think you'll ever forget how to be a father."_

_ "I hope not," he murmured, his eyes fixated on his child. "I'd never forgive myself if I let him down. Sometimes I wonder if I've done the same with the girls."_

_ The kiss that she pressed against his neck let him know that she thought the notion ridiculous. He smiled despite himself, turning his head to reciprocate the action._

_ "I'm so proud of you," he whispered then. "So very, very proud."_

_ Her gaze turned wistful. "Are you really? Sometimes I feel as though I've disappointed you with my inability to give you a son."_

_ His voice was so stern that it brought tears to her eyes. "Cora, my love, I could never be disappointed in you. Not when you've given me three of the finest daughters around."_

_ She blinked her tears away, and they sat in peaceful silence for a few moments, simply regarding the child in his arms with a blissful wonder._

_ "He needs a name," Cora said at last, gently brushing her fingertips against the downy hair._

_ "Any in mind?" he asked her, beaming widely as he turned to regard her, but he stopped short at the realisation that she was bleeding. Panic seized him at once._

_ "Cora?" he said, icy dread curdling in the pit of his stomach even as her eyes closed and the blood spread. "Cora!"_

_ She gave no answer but moaned loudly, like an animal blasted on a shoot, and he made to pass their child into just one arm so that he could try to help his wife, but to his abject horror he found that the baby was bleeding too, and he opened his mouth to scream – _

– He was woken by the feel of arms around him, and he struggled deliriously for a few moments until he realised that the choked voice in his ear belonged to Cora and he stopped fighting, panting hard as she tentatively relaxed her grip on him. In a flash he had turned around and captured her in a powerful embrace, squeezing her so tightly that she gasped. Still he did not loosen his grip on her, simply buried his head under her chin and breathed deeply. She did not try and pry his arms away from her, though he knew he must be hurting her.

"Robert, what's wrong?" she breathed a few seconds later, her voice thick.

He let out a shaky breath, muffling his response against her warm, blissfully untarnished skin. "A bad dream. My God…"

She stroked her hands soothingly down his back, and he felt her press her cheek sharply against his brow. His own hands trembled around her waist as he clung to her for support. At first he couldn't hear the words she was breathlessly pushing out of her throat, but he was alerted to her own sadness when he felt something damp against his hairline. Concern and panic at once took control, pushing his own anguish to the side.

He used his hold on her waist as leverage to push her away. She moved willingly enough, though she tried to blink away the tears that had welled up in her eyes, releasing one of her arms so that she could swipe her knuckles against her cheeks and remove the traces of her agony. Robert caught her wrist and stilled her movements.

"Cora, darling," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Lord, don't cry. Please don't cry."

His begging was what ruptured the barriers she'd tried to construct after the loss of their baby, their boy. Her face crumbled like a majestic castle and the tears started to fall hard and fast. At once guilt consumed his soul. Seeing her so broken, hurting so badly, fractured his heart. It had been painful enough for him to hear that she had lost their child. He couldn't begin to imagine how horrifying an event it must have been to go through personally.

When a panicked O'Brien had appeared at the bottom of the stairs with her face flushed and her eyes wild with the turmoil of regret and grief, barely able to get out that the doctor had to come at _once_, that her ladyship was bleeding, bleeding _badly_, that there had to be something terribly, terribly wrong, Robert had felt as though his whole world was collapsing in on itself, suffocating him with its crushing weight. It had been bad enough when he'd lost James and Patrick. If he ever lost Cora…

He'd sent for the doctor immediately, feeling almost violently sick and, ignoring the protests from Carson and Mrs. Hughes to leave her with O'Brien, that Mrs. Hughes herself would go up there and help in every way she could, he mounted the stairs to the room that they had shared for twenty-six years, had raced along the corridor and burst over the threshold. He'd heard O'Brien's quavering tone from the bathroom, attempting to soothe the Countess, though the terror in her own voice was apparent. He'd called his wife's name frantically, hearing her groan in response, and seconds later the lady's maid had been at the door, looking pale and gaunt, blocking his way.

"Move, O'Brien," he'd said, more harshly than he'd intended, but she'd remained stoic.

"She doesn't want you to see her, milord," she'd said, expression trembling, and he'd noticed with a nauseating clarity that her hands were stained crimson.

Blood. Cora's blood.

His knees had weakened beneath him, and he'd had to cling to the doorframe in fear of collapsing completely. After staring him down for a few more seconds, O'Brien had returned to her mistress. He'd tried to follow her but she'd closed the door in his face, putting that first barrier between them. By the time Dr. Clarkson had arrived, he had been sitting by the vanity with his head slumped in his hands, breathing uneven and face a tight mass of lines, attempting to keep his composure with some difficulty. His wife's agonised moans had not stopped at all during this time.

Despite her most ardent protests, O'Brien had been sent from the bathroom, too, leaving the doctor to cope with Cora with the help of two of his nurses. Both of them, representatives of both above and below stairs, united in terror, had stood in that room, eyes fixated on the door. Ten minutes might have passed, perhaps ten hours, before the door had opened and Dr. Clarkson had destroyed what might have been their perfect future once more.

Pushing those memories away lest they suffocated him, Robert held tightly to his wife, letting her grieve. Over the past weeks she had rarely spoken, barely eaten, hardly slept. She had tried to put on a brave face for the world, but the darkness of night betrayed her. He could see the vulnerability within her, but up to now he hadn't done anything to try and abate her agony, struggling to cope with his own. He hated himself for being so selfish, for putting his own needs before hers. What she had been through – that agonising trauma – had been a million times worse than what he himself had. He hadn't been the one to give birth to their already dead child.

Their already dead _son_.

Now, he pressed his lips protectively against her temple, his own tears beginning to spill down his face. For a long while they remained that way, bodies close, hearts a thousand miles apart.

"I wish it had been me," Cora choked at length. "I'm so sorry, Robert, so, so, sorry. If I'd only noticed the soap…"

He felt as though he had been doused in icy water. Reeling backwards as though she'd physically struck him, he grabbed hold of her shoulders, dragging her away so that he could look into her face, not caring that he was being rough.

"Don't you ever let me hear you saying that again," he told her forcefully. His fingers bit harshly into her skin. "If anything ever happened to you, Cora…"

She was shaking her head. "Our son, Robert. If God had spared him and not me, then you would have gotten what I've always wanted to give you."

He cut her off there, sharply. "Cora, I could never ask for finer daughters than the ones you've given me. I love each of them fiercely and I love you for giving them to me. They're not boys, no, but I wouldn't trade any of them for a son. And don't speak so foolishly; our son could never have survived at such a young age. I would have lost the both of you, and that I really couldn't bear. Then where would I have been?"

Cora sniffed loudly, and he brushed her tears away. He knew his own were visible to her, and she reached out to shakily reciprocate the action.

"I don't want to hear you speaking in such a way again," he reiterated as his arms found their way around her waist once more.

She nodded in agreement, but he could tell from the twisted expression on her face that she was still dwelling on it. On impulse, he pulled her head under his chin, pressing his cheek fiercely against his crown, breathing in deeply to regulate his painful heartbeat, struggling to swallow the painful lump in his throat as she let herself go once more. His own tears were silent to counter the heart-wrenching sobs which tore themselves free of her throat.

The image, the dream of their perfect son filtered slowly away from his memory. No matter how hard he tried to capture it, it trickled free, like water through his fingers. The image he'd created in eager anticipation of their child's arrival was forever tainted by liquid crimson. The pain that each of them felt over the loss of their child would never be erased.

For now, there was nothing that either of them could do but cling to each other and mourn their loss.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I'm sure there's a billion things wrong with this, but oh well. I'd love to hear your thoughts! :)


End file.
